I Am Flesh (And I Am Bone)
by XSilverLiningsX
Summary: [Modern Superheroes AU, Part 11] An exploration into the decades-long relationship between Kain and Gallagher, including moments when Kain's life is pretty much an absolute hot mess and that one time when nothing hurt and everything was all good. Also, an extension of this series closure.
1. Chapter 1

"Mum?" At eight years old and quite overweight for a child of his height, Gallagher was well aware of how cold and distant his parents acted both to himself and to each other. The only person in the household that he had a remotely emotional connection to was the cook, who had always saved a few pastries for him to chew on after the depressing meals he'd share with his parents to cheer him up a little.

The door creaked open just enough for Gallagher to fit his round face through the gap. He didn't like going into the rooms where his mother occupied in the afternoons, as the rancid stench of spilled alcohol and cigarette smoke sometimes made him gag and cough for hours afterwards.

"Yes, dearie?" His mother was lounging on the chaise in a loose silk gown with a glass of wine between her fingers. A few bottles of expensive brandy and bourbon were scattered on the carpeted floor around her, all of them emptied of liquor. The woman's bleary eyes hazily swept over Gallagher's face before settling somewhere off into the distance.

"Dad's back." Gallagher shrank back behind the door a little more.

"That's nice, dear…" The woman drained her wine and dropped the delicate glass onto the floor with a heavy sigh. "Hmm… this calls for another sip of brandy… be a dear and bring me a brandy from the cab?"

Gallagher held his breath and scurried into the heavily-perfumed room. The closest bottle of brandy in the cabinet was about the size of his head.

"Thank you, my darling boy." When given the alcohol, the woman uncorked the bottle and reached down for the wine glass she'd dropped. The motion tilted the brandy bottle too far and sent a gush of brown liquor onto her chest, soaking the thin material. The woman giggled, high and airy and drunk beyond comprehension. "Oh my, what a mess!"

Gallagher dashed towards the door, a ball of familiar disgust starting to form in his stomach and curl up his throat as his mother continued giggling senselessly. When he'd crossed the doorframe, his mother called out for him inbetween her uncontrollable fits of giggling.

He shut the door behind him and kept on walking – this time, towards his father's study. Gallagher slowed down, however, and hesitated by the closed door to the study when he heard his father's raised voice through the door. The man had only been back for less than an hour and he'd already gotten into another shouting match on the phone.

The boy's fist hovered above the door to his father's study for a moment before lowering. Gallagher turned away just as there was a loud crash of glass shattering against the wall.

Gallagher eyed the door before taking off with a sneer, running down the expensively-décored hallway as fast as his fat little legs would allow.

The brightly-lit kitchen was a welcome sight for sore eyes, not to mention the delicious smells of food being cooked and pastries being baked.

"Oi, there you are, brat!" A dark-skinned woman with a red apron tied around her waist and an equally-red headscarf grinned when Gallagher skidded to a stop next to her. "I was just thinkin' of getting a lil' help for the tarts! Take one and tell me howzit, since it's a new recipe that I came up with last night."

The nearest pastry crammed into Gallagher's mouth the moment the cook finished her sentence. Gallagher chewed furiously with stuffed cheeks and a happy grin.

"Ith goothd. Whassit?"

"Don't tell your mama, but I put a bit o' spiced rum innit. Tasty, yeah? My lil' niece Allysse suggested that I use it in the batter to give it more of a kick with the star fruit."

"Shimone, Canth I haf som in muh lhunch box thoo?" Gallagher reached for another tart.

"Boy, you ain't gonna have any if you eat all of them right now." With a raised eyebrow and a smile, the cook knocked away the boy's hand with her wooden spoon after he tried to take a third pastry. "And that's _Missus_ Simone to you, brat."

Gallagher leered at the cook with his mouth open to show the disgusting mush of the chewed pastries.

"Nasty brat!" Simone shooed away the boy with a laugh. "Now, unless you're volunteerin' to scrub all the pots, you might as well as get your behind out of my kitchen!"

Definitely _not_ interested in doing the dishes, Gallagher promptly scurried away to leave the cook to her duties.

* * *

In all of his eight years of living, Kain had never hated anything so much in his life more than the little town of Colhen – except, perhaps, the baggy-eyed social worker that was currently taking him to his fifth foster home in two years.

"Kid, keep yer chin up. Colhen might not be like Malina, but it's a bit bigger an' got more places innit. You'll find somethin' t'keep y'busy."

With his skinny arms crossed over his chest, Kain stared out of the moving car's window with a serious frown that made him look much older than he was. The car stopped at a red light, and the right-turn signal light ticked loudly in the silence. The social worker sighed and scratched at his beard, his leathery face wrinkling into a sympathetic expression.

The car rumbled down a street and into a residential street lined with aging brick buildings leaning almost despondently into each other as their noisy residents side-eyed everyone and anyone from between moth-eaten curtains and yellowed blinds. Rusty waist-high chain-link fences separated each tiny dirt-and-weed lawn from each other. The social worker's single beady eye – the one not covered by a tacky eye patch – squinted at the poor kid sitting in the back seat through the rearview mirror when he pulled the car up to a house that looked just as dilapidated as the others save for a relatively recent coat of white paint.

"Well… we're here. C'mon, kid. I'll get your things from the trunk."

Kain's young face hardened into a practiced blank look of politeness as he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid out of the car. The social worker rounded the car a few moments later, carrying a ragged backpack holding some school supplies and a half-empty garbage bag filled with ill-fitting hand me downs. The man sighed again when he saw the expression on Kain's face.

"Kid, look at me."

Kain looked up into the lined face and squinting black eye staring down at him.

"Call me or Silberin if anythin' happens. Anytime, even in the middle o'the night, and we'll come right ov'r and get you then and there. Me and him ar' always gonna have yer back, 'kay?"

Kain hesitated for a moment, his amber eyes flickering from the social worker, to the decrepit house, and then back to the older man. He nodded once.

"Right. Let's meet Father Torrin, then."

There was no doorbell, so at the social worker's nod Kain knocked on the door a few times. After a few sounds of some locks unlatching, the door opened to reveal a tall and thin older man with a trimmed goatee and dressed in a faded priest uniform. A wooden rosary necklace with a celtic cross hung from around the man's neck.

"Ah, you must be… Kain, I believe. It's nice to finally meet you, young man." The old man leaned down to extend both a gentle smile and a bony hand out to the boy, who shook it with a guarded look. "Come in and sit down, child. Ingkells, you can put his belongings upstairs. Second door on the right."

The social worker, Ingkells, grunted in acknowledgement before shifting the garbage bag over to his other hand. His free hand went to fondly ruffle Kain's messy hair before he turned away.

Torrin led the boy over to the kitchen and gestured for him to sit down on one of the chairs by the countertop island.

Kain stared warily at the old man as he bustled about the kitchen, pulling out a glass, a jug of milk, and a single-serving package of cookies.

"Child, you must be weary after such a long trip from Malina. It's not quite lunch time yet, so I do hope you will accept these in the meantime. The other children do seem to like these quite a bit."

Kain stared at the cookies, and then at the old man. His fingers hovered uncertainly over the package.

"Go on. They won't bite." The old man's modest smile never seemed to leave his face, even when a shrill shriek started up from the floor above. "Ah, it must be Tieve's feeding time."

The old man reached into the refrigerator once more and pulled out a prepared bottle of infant formula. He quickly heated it up on the stove and not too soon later quick footsteps thundered down the stairs.

"Torrin! Tieve's hungry!" A black-haired child just about Kain's age barreled into the room, barely holding onto the wailing toddler with a worried look on his face.

"Keaghan, thank you for bringing her down." Torrin handed over the warmed bottle to the boy. The toddler girl, upon being fed milk, quieted immediately. The boy beamed and then made his way back up the stairs, although more carefully than before.

Not a moment later, Ingkells tromped into the kitchen, having to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe, and smiled briefly when he spotted Kain sitting at the counter slowly eating a handful of small cookies piece by piece.

"It figures that a bunch o' sugar would be th' first thing I'd see you willingly eat in 'bout three days, kid."

Kain responded by hunching protectively over his cookies. Ingkells snorted and ruffled the boy's hair again.

"I didn't say that I'd take any ov' em, did I?" Leaning against the counter, Ingkells accepted the glass of water that Torrin offered him and gulped it all down. "Now, what I'd giv' fo' a good ol' iced strawberry brandy…"

"None of that in my house, Ingkells, and certainly not around the children." Ever-vigilant, Torrin swatted at the one-eyed man's head with a rolled up newspaper.

Ingkells batted away the newspaper with a roll of his eyes. He turned to smile genuinely at the wide-eyed boy sitting next to him. "Father Torrin's a good man. A better one than me, probably. Keep yer nose clean, kid, and you'll have a good time. I'll see you in two weeks."

Ingkells was just about to turn to leave when a pair of skinny arms latched around his waist and a head buried into his chest. Stifling his surprise, Ingkells rested his hand on the top of the boy's head for a long moment before he pulled himself away.

"Remember, call me any time. I want to know what yer up to, alright?"

The boy turned to look at the glass of milk sitting innocently on the countertop, putting his back to both adults, and Ingkells felt no need to draw attention to the wet spot on his shirt.

"I'll see you out, Ingkells."

"Thank yeh, Father."

Once back in the driver's seat of his car, Ingkells forced himself to not look back up to the house, where a pair of mournful amber eyes was watching him leave through the kitchen window and silently begging to take him to a _real_ home.


	2. Chapter 2

Seeing that Colhen was a relatively small town compared to its much larger sister city a few miles north, the only school in the area was a K-12 parochial charter school funded both by the Royal Treasury and hefty "donations" from middle-upper class families that had lived in the quaintly rustic gated communities up on the hills for many generations. The three-story school building, Colhen Preparatory Charter School, sat atop a large grassy knoll surrounded by a wall of tall hedges and elaborately iron-wrought fencing that gave the area an austere aura of academic success and wealth.

Kain stared, slack-jawed and bug-eyed, as he nervously followed after his fellow foster-siblings, Keaghan and Marrec, off the school bus and onto the school grounds. The place was nothing like the ramshackle and crime-infested public schools he'd attended before back in Malina, and the sheer fact that here he was, dressed in a starched school uniform with his ratty backpack over his shoulder, was mind-boggling.

"Since we're wards of the state and being fostered by Father Torrin, we get to come here on a special scholarship. We get two new sets of uniforms and some money for school supplies at the start of each year." Keaghan smiled at the other boy kindly and steered him back onto the paved pathway leading up the steps of the school.

"And free snacks and lunch! Can't forget that, since the food's pretty good for a school." Marrec's maroon bedhead was hidden under a black beanie, but the boy quickly swiped it off and stuffed it into the pocket of his uniform jacket when he saw a harried-looking teacher rounding the corner.

Free food? Clothes? Money for school supplies? Kain couldn't quite believe his ears. All of this was inconceivable to him – like he'd walked straight into a fantastical dream and felt that it was all going to come crashing down real soon.

"Yeah, that's the face I made when I first came here. Just stick with us and keep away from the snobby rich kids, though. They're a bunch of shit stains." Marrec elbowed Kain and tugged him out of the way of an older student that had his nose buried in a book.

"Marrec… what did Father Torrin say about foul language?" Keaghan warned the boy as they reached their 3rd grade classroom.

"Well, Father Torrin's not here, is he?"

"Still, that doesn't mean you should be rude to others. _Do unto others as you would have them do unto you_."

" _Ugh_. Go preach somewhere else, choir-boy. Oi, Ceara! You're sitting in my spot!"

The circular tables in the classroom were almost already filled up with twenty or so children. Their other foster sister, just as red-headed as Marrec but much more sedate in temper, stuck out her tongue from where she was sitting next to a blonde girl with glasses and a perpetual frown on her face.

"You snooze, you lose _skunk-face_." Ceara gave a blindingly cheerful smile to Keaghan and Kain as Marrec stormed over to the seat across from her.

"I _don't_ have a skunk face!"

"Yes you do!"

"Nuh uh!"

"Good morning, Gwynn." Keaghan sat down at the last remaining seat at the table, next to the blonde girl (who nodded curtly at him and returned to reading her book).

Kain stood awkwardly next to him, shifting from foot to foot as he looked at the other full tables. There was only one open seat left at the other side of the room, and it was next to a fat boy with an awful haircut that was glaring murderously at the other laughing kids at the table.

The door to the classroom swung open to admit a stern-faced man dressed in a priest's uniform and a silver cross necklace. The children quieted down into an eerie silence as the man stood at the front desk with some papers in his hands.

The man's piercingly authoritarian gaze immediately found the odd one out in the room. Kain fought the urge to curl back into himself as no doubt the man's keen eyes categorized him into the Poor-Foster-Scholarship category in 0.2 seconds.

"Good morning, children."

"Good morning, Father Gilliam." The children chorused in unison save for Kain.

The man continued staring at the boy. "As you can all see, today we have a new student joining us. If he would kindly find the nearest open seat and sit down instead of loitering around like a hooligan, we can begin our lesson for the day."

Kain's face burned as he quickly scurried into the seat next to the fat boy. The teacher, Father Gilliam, finally looked away and turned to the board to grab the whiteboard marker and it was as if Kain could breathe again. The three other boys sitting across from him at the table, all with perfectly coiffed hair and crisp school uniforms, gave him cursory looks of disgust before sneering and getting out their schoolbooks.

Kain pulled out his own books and notebook, inwardly wincing at the ragged state of the notebook cover and the bent pages.

A finger poked at his arm. Kain turned to look at the fat boy with the bad haircut.

"You got an extra pencil?"

Kain rummaged through his bag and found an old pen. He handed over his only pencil to the fat boy and uncapped the pen for his own use.

"Thanks." The quick smirk showed a missing front tooth. "My name's Gallagher."

"M'Kain."

Gallagher's eyes flickered to the board and back towards the other boy. "That'sa weird name."

Kain made a face. "So's Gallagher."

An Oxford-clad foot suddenly rammed into Kain's knee. He squeaked at the sudden pain and kicked back instinctively.

"OUCH!" One of the boys with the perfect hair overdramatically fell off his chair with a wail. "MR. GILLIAM! HE KICKED ME!"

Father Gilliam hastened over with a frown as he helped the child back into his seat. "Who kicked you, Branson?"

Branson sniffled through fake tears and pointed at Kain. Father Gilliam's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Kain, as if confirming something he'd suspected.

"I didn't—"

"Silence. Assault is not tolerated, child. Even one of your _background_ should already know this."

Kain felt an uncomfortable feeling sinking in his gut. He knew what _assault_ meant, but all he had done was kick back…?

"But Bran kicked first!" Surprisingly, Gallagher spoke up with a glare at a still-sniffling Branson. "Bran's a big fat liar!"

Father Gilliam glanced at Gallagher with a frown before turning his attention back to Kain. "You may be in third grade, but I have the authority to give you some form of detention. You will stay in during lunch to clean the classroom. Gallagher, since you _always_ seem to have something negative to say about Branson despite the many times I've told you to keep those comments to yourself, you'll join him too."

With that, Father Gilliam turned to quickly check Branson's injury, before returning to the front of the room to continue the lesson.

Kain sank down in his seat as he could practically feel the dozen-or-so eyes boring into his forehead. He looked over to the fat boy that had tried to defend him; Gallagher was grinding his teeth and glaring even harder at the three silently-snickering boys.

For the rest of the hour, Kain resolutely kept his head down and slowly scrawled down the lessons on the board.

* * *

By the time recess rolled around, Kain more-or-less felt as if he'd barely survived a never-ending drive-by shooting composed of constant under-the-table kicking from Branson, being passed over for answers to a question every single time he'd raised his hand, and ignoring the worried looks that Keaghan and Ceara were sending his way from across the room.

The boy broke free from the swarm of his classmates once they all emptied out into the fenced playground area and headed in the direction of the student restrooms off in the corner.

"Hey, Kain!" Ceara was yelling from where she was over by the swings with some other girls.

Kain ignored the voice and walked faster. The restroom was clean, well-lit, empty of anyone else. He picked one stall at random, locked the door, set the toilet lid down, and then sat down on top of it with his knees drawn up to his chest since he was still small enough to do so.

He sat there for a while until he could feel the uncomfortably tight feeling in his chest subsiding. Kain was just about to slide off his perch when the door to the restroom opened and two loud voices bounced off the tiled walls.

"Did you see the look on his face?"

"Yeah! We even managed to get that fatass detention!"

"Not even that new kid's gonna talk to him now, hah!"

Branson and… some other boy. Probably one of the others sitting at their table. Kain kept silent and waited until the two other boys had gone into the stalls before leaving the restroom at a fast run.

The fat boy – Gallagher – was crouched by a tree near the edge of the playground, digging at the dirt with a stick the size of his arm by himself. Kain slowed down when he got close enough that the other boy looked up in alarm. When he saw that it was him, his face twisted into a sneer.

"What d'you want?"

Kain scanned the ground for a good-sized stick and picked one up. He crouched by Gallagher and started digging, too.

"M'sorry for geddin' you in trouble."

Gallagher eyed him for a little longer before turning to look at the hole.

"S'fine. I get detention every week, anyways. Stupid Bran."

"Stupid Bran." Kain echoed the sentiment in agreement before he went silent, stabbing his stick into the dirt a little harder than necessary before just leaving it there sticking up. "I'm gonna tie his shoelaces together later, wanna help?"

"What? How?" Gallagher stopped digging.

"Here's what you can do…"

* * *

While Father Gilliam was droning on about multiplication tables at the front of the classroom, Gallagher and Kain waited until lunch was just a handful of minutes away before giving each other slight nods to signal the start of their plan.

Kain's pen rolled right off the edge of the table. He quickly kicked it underneath the table, right by Bran's polished Oxfords, before slipping underneath the table himself without making any noticeable sounds.

Still in his seat, Gallagher crunched up a few paper balls as quietly as he could. He had about four when Kain popped back up in his seat with his pen. The other boy exchanged a quick smile before taking two of the balls.

The lunch bell rang and the class dutifully waited until Father Gilliam dismissed the children.

With matching grins, Kain and Gallagher launched their paper balls at the three other boys, hitting them square in the faces. Once they ran out of ammunition and the three other boys started to yell, they grabbed their backpacks, scrambled out of their seats and managed to shove through the crowd at the doorway by the time Father Gilliam had went over to figure out what Branson and his friends were screaming about.

For once in his short life, Gallagher kept pace with the other boy's fast sprint all the way until they'd reached the corner of the playground that was well-shaded with squat oak trees. Gallagher was huffing and puffing heavily from exertion but laughing freely with Kain as he braced himself against the nearest tree. Kain was right next to him with a toothy grin on his face.

"H-how many knots did'ja give Bran?"

"None of 'em d-didn't even notice! I gave all of 'em _five_!"

"Five? They're gonna hafta cut their laces to get'em off!"

"I know!"

Gallagher and Kain howled with laughter. Eventually though, they subsided into breathless giggles as they both slid down to sit in the large gap between the three's roots. As if on cue, Kain's stomach rumbled to remind him that he hadn't eaten anything at recess and that since it was currently lunch time, he'd better find some food.

Kain peeked around the tree and saw a smattering of children on the playground and a few other adults watching them, but no one was looking for either of them at the moment.

"I don't wanna go back inside to get lunch. I'd get in trouble wit' Father Gilliam fo' sure." Kain shifted so that he could pull his legs up to his chest and wrap his arms around them.

Gallagher raised an eyebrow. "You don't bring lunch? The food's pretty bad at the lunch room."

"Really?" Kain looked at the other boy. "But it's free food, though?"

"Free?" Now Gallagher looked confused. "It's only free for the poor kids. Everyone else just brings food, 'cause we have cooks and stuff."

"Oh." Kain turned to look away, feeling a hint of embarrassment crawling up to his face. His stomach growled again, but he didn't move.

Gallagher looked down at his backpack, suddenly feeling bad. They'd been having so much fun just a minute ago, and then he had to open his big fat mouth and ruin it.

"D'you wanna share with me? My cook always makes too much food for me, anyways."

"I don't want charity." Kain turned to look at Gallagher with an unimpressed frown.

Gallagher stared back as he opened up his backpack and pulled out his lunch box. "It's not charity. I jus' have too much food. See?"

Gallagher's _lunch box_ was actually more of a stack of two bento boxes strapped together to form a stack that somehow actually fit in his backpack. The top bento showed a PB  & J sandwich cut into halves, a sizable helping of goldfish crackers, a handful of apple slices shoved in-between banana slices and a handful of grapes, and some kind of tiny pie tart squeezed into the last bit of space available.

"See? I've got _two_ of these, every day. Simone says I'm a growing boy, but my Mum says I'm getting' too fat."

"Simone?" Kain's eyes were locked onto the bento boxes and he was practically drooling. He'd never had such a good-looking lunch prepared _specifically_ for him ever in his life. Lunch was usually whatever that was served at school (or, more commonly, simply nothing at all).

"Simone's my house cook. C'mon, take 'em. Just give me the box when you're done." Gallagher offered one of the boxes over to Kain. The other boy took it with wide and unbelieving eyes, his hands trembling from their grip on the sturdy plastic.

"You… you sure?" Kain opened up the box and swallowed past the knot in his throat. So much food… he picked up one of the halves of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich ( _glistening purple jelly oozing from the edges, thick layers of creamy peanut butter spread, cloud-soft white bread_ ) so gently as if it was going to disappear if he blinked.

"Yheah. Yhou're dfoin' me a fhavor." Gallagher stuffed some goldfish crackers in his mouth along with the huge bite of his sandwich.

Kain cautiously took a bite of the sandwich, and then all hesitation flew out of the window as he shoved the rest of it into his mouth and chewed quickly. It was so sweet, and it tasted _so_ good…

"Thanfks, Ghally."

"Nho phrobhlem." Keeping his head down, Gallagher's ears burned at the nickname, but the other boy didn't notice at all.

* * *

From his lonely seat outside of the Headmaster's Office, Kain stared at his feet and tried not to flinch when Ingkells finally finished talking with the receptionist and sat down in the seat next to him.

"Hey, kid. Seems like you've got in a bit o' trouble."

"Yep." Kain shifted a little in his seat, his fingers toying with the stretchy cuff of his jacket's sleeves.

Ingkells sighed. "Wanna tell me 'bout it before we get called in?"

Kain looked up at the social worker, nervously chewing his lip. "Bran kicked me first, then I kicked back, but then I got detention. So I tied his laces together, 'cause he was bein' mean to Gally too. What'sa detention?"

"Detention's somethin' like a punishment that's given by a teacher. Who's Gally?" Ingkells raised a scraggly eyebrow.

"He's my friend. He gave me half ov' his lunch, 'cause we were hidin' from Father Gilliam. He's mean, too. I don' like 'em." Kain had a half-smile on his face, no doubt remembering the delicious sandwich he'd eaten, but then it fell when the voices arguing back and forth in the Headmaster's Office became loud enough to hear from the outside.

Ingkells followed the kid's gaze. "Oh, boy. He's the one in there now?"

"Yep."

"Sounds bad."

"It'snot fair. All he did was throw some paper balls. How come he's in trouble too?"

Ingkells briefly debated giving the kid a textbook definition of the word _accomplice_ , but then decided against it. The man didn't get a chance to say more anyways, as the door to the Headmaster's Office opened to show a little fat boy (he assumed "Gally") being quickly tugged away by a mildly angry older man in a fitted suit.

"C'mon Finnec, I can walk!" The boy turned around and impudently stuck out his tongue at the Headmaster, who was staring with narrowed eyes back at him.

"Master Gallagher, I think you've caused enough trouble for one day."

When Gallagher passed by Kain sitting on the bench, he had just enough leeway to snap a thumbs up and a toothy grin before being forcibly dragged away by his… butler? Male nanny? Caretaker? The man definitely wasn't his father, for sure.

Ingkells stifled an inappropriate chuckle when the Headmaster's sharp eyes landed on him and Kain.

"Kain and…"

"Ingkells. I'm his social worker." Ingkells stood up and offered his hand for a handshake. The Headmaster frowned in distaste and ignored the hand as he opened the door wider to admit the two inside his office.

The ornate name plate on the desk read: Provisionary Headmaster Riordan.

When a chair was offered, Ingkells sat down, pasted a pacifying smile onto his face, and inwardly sighed at having to deal with yet another one of those uptight Royal Army folks.


	3. Chapter 3

5th grade was killing Gallagher.

"—and so, the magic that is in this world is nothing to trifle with, no matter how insignificant it may seem. Magic keeps food from rotting, or making something heavy light enough to be carried. Do not take it for granted, children! There is still much more to be done, especially with the Fomorian Army haunting the very edges of our cities! We all must be vigilant, to ensure that we remain strong to see that the Fomorian Army is destroyed and the Prophecy fulfilled."

A sole hand raised into the air.

"Yes, Miss Gwynn?"

"Professor Jarlath, what is the Prophecy?"

"Ah, good question. The Prophecy is…"

The mage droned on, heedless of the many drooping heads throughout the classroom. 10-years-old Gallagher and Kain were among those who had long since tuned out of the endless lecture and were just passing back scraps of papers with doodles of badly-drawn fomors being skewered by stick figures holding swords.

"—and so, for the last part of today's lesson we will break down into pairs to answer questions one to ten in our textbooks on page 215."

While the other kids were still moving around to find someone to work with, Gallagher and Kain had already pushed their desks and chairs together.

It wasn't as if any of their classmates ever picked either of them to work with, anyways; Gallagher was a slacker with a nasty talent of making people cry within four words and Kain was just... creepy, thanks to the unusual color of his eyes ( _fomors usually had gold-colored eyes..._ ) and his tendency to steal pencils whenever you weren't paying attention. Even in PE, Kain and Gallagher were always last to be picked or at the back of the line (Gallagher wasn't quite fat anymore, but he was still chunky compared to everyone else, and Kain didn't so much as move a single inch until his friend had been picked).

They didn't mind too much, though – no one else really mattered, and that was enough.

"Alright, let's get this stupid thing over with. Lunch is taking too long to get here." Kain tore out two pieces of wrinkled paper from his notebook and uncapped his pen. His eyes scanned over the first question in the book. "What is the main ingredient in a Fine HP Potion?"

"I dunno. Do we really hafta do this?" Gallagher flipped through the chapter aimlessly. Words and sentences jumped out from the book, but he didn't bother to read any of it.

"We're gonna get F's if we don't do something to get our grades back up. I don't wanna repeat this class _again_ , Gally."

" _Fine_." Gallagher squinted hard at the first page of the chapter the lesson was about. He could just about get the general gist of the first few sentences, but with the way some of the letters kept flicking around and rearranging themselves to mess with him made it difficult to keep his concentration at the task at hand. After a moment, he simply smushed his face into the pages of the textbook with a groan. "Can't you just do it?"

"Your eyes makin' you not read again?" Kain shoved Gallagher's head off the textbook and turned to the correct page. "Says _Life Erg Crystals_ here. I'll read and you'll write, then."

"Ugh." Gallagher picked up the pen and scribbled **(1) life erg cyrstlas** the best he could with his horrible handwriting.

"Almost." Kain took the pen, crossed out **cyrstlas** , and then wrote **crystals** right above it. "Alright, number two… what are the ingredients in a _Party Revival Feather_?"

Gallagher let his head slump to the table again. Why couldn't summer vacation get here _faster_?


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey, G? You still awake?"

Fourteen years old and not-too-happy at being bothered just at the moment he was going to fall asleep, Gallagher rolled onto his side and blearily looked over the edge of his bed. It was dark in his room, but with the moonlight coming in through the window he could see the slight shine of his friend's eyes from where he was mostly wrapped up in an old sleeping bag.

"I am now."

"Sorry." Kain shifted a bit in his sleeping bag. "I forgot to tell you after dinner, but…"

Gallagher made a sleepy _hmm_ sound.

"Tieve and Clodagh got adopted by this old guy and his wife awhile ago. Keaghan and Marrec's been…" Kain's pause indicated that he was looking for the appropriate words, but then he shrugged when he couldn't find any. "They're getting' worse."

"Just let 'em fight it out."

"Yeah, but Father Torrin's been makin' me get in the middle of all of it. All I could do was take a few punches from Marrec so Keaghan wouldn't get hit too much, 'cause y'know he doesn't like getting into fights."

Gallagher sat up immediately. "Wait, so that shiner wasn't—"

"No, it wasn't the doorknob. Sorry I lied about that." Kain's sleeping bag unzipped quietly and he sat up as well.

Gallagher exhaled slowly, his breathing loud in the silence.

"So that's why you asked me if I didn't mind you sleepin' over for the weekends."

"Yep. Sorry for that, too."

"Stop apologizin', dumbass." Gallagher flopped back down on his bed. "Y'know you're welcome anytime. Just don't lie to me about those twat-faces givin' you black eyes, alright?"

"Yeah." Kain slid back down into his sleeping bag.

Just as Gallagher was drifting off into sleep once more, he could've sworn that he heard the other teen whisper faintly, "I didn't want y'to worry."


	5. Chapter 5

A few days short of eighteen and having just obtained his driver's license, Kain knew without a doubt that _this_ was a really bad idea.

However, with his best friend in the passenger seat of a car that he'd hotwired from the house party they'd crashed, Gallagher belting out slurred oldies lyrics while drunk as a skunk, Kain also didn't really know what else to do besides drive through the dark and winding roads leading up to the gated community that Gallagher lived in and hope for the best. He had maybe two drinks compared to Gallagher's six, so out of the two of them he still had decent control over himself…

"CAUSEEE I'M NEVERR GONNA GIVE YOU UP, NEEEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN—"

"O' fo' fucks sake G! Shut! Up!"

"NEVERR GONNA RUN AROUNDD AND DESERT YOU!"

Keeping his eyes firmly on the road, Kain grinded his teeth on the cheap unlit cigarette in his mouth. The taste of tar and ash was cloying on his tongue and eventually he just rolled down the window and spat the mangled thing out. Taking one hand off the wheel, he rummaged through the pocket of his jeans and procured another cigarette to stick between his teeth.

A click of a lighter and a tiny flame lighted up within the car's interior. Kain raised an eyebrow when his cigarette somehow managed to get lighted even though Gallagher basically had zero coordination at this point, his outstretched arm shaking with the bumps of the road.

"Gimmie one too, K—"

Then, his foot slammed on the breaks when Gallagher's hand suddenly shoved into the pocket of his jeans, way too close to his—

A car horn screeched behind—

Tires skidding—

A mighty crunch of metal reached his ears, and Kain felt his guts icing over in utter terror.

* * *

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Gallagher woke up in his bedroom with a horrible hangover that sent him stumbling over to his adjoined bathroom to promptly vomit out everything he'd eaten or drank the night before.

A long shower and a change into fresh clothes helped just enough that Gallagher finally realized that Finnec, his family's head valet, had been waiting for him at the door the entire time.

"Master Gallagher. I _do_ hope you are feeling well this morning." The look on Finnec's face was anything _but_ placidly polite.

"Uhm. Yeah, I…" Gallagher scratched at his hair nervously. "Where's K? He drove me back, right?"

"Your father is waiting downstairs. I suggest you make haste, Master Gallagher." FInnec leveled a steely glare at the young man, who gulped and edged past the old man cautiously.

* * *

Gallagher tried to keep from scratching at the heavy monitoring bracelet strapped around his ankle as he impatiently waited for the police officer at the front desk to finish typing up whatever the hell he was typing.

"Reason for visitation?"

"C'mon, I'm here to bail out a friend I was with last night."

The police officer raised an eyebrow. "Oh right, you're the _other_ one. Your daddy bailed you out but not your buddy? Tough luck."

"I'm here to pay his bail. Am I gonna have to keep repeating myself, officer?" Gallagher clenched his hands into fists at his sides, doing his utmost best to keep his temper from exploding in the middle of a crowded police station.

The officer boredly clicked through a few boxes on his computer screen. "Your buddy's name is… Kain, right?"

"Yes! How much is his bail?"

"Eh, sorry, no can do. No bail on that one – he's going straight to juvie court under DUI and underage drinking charges."

Gallagher felt his stomach drop. "What, no, he's basically eighteen, you can't do that—"

"Not my decision, kid. Now, you wanna visitor's badge or what? 'Cause there's a queue behind you and I ain't got all day." The police officer gestured flippantly at the other people sitting in chairs at the side of the room.

"Give me a badge." Gallagher gritted his teeth together and resolutely pushed down the feeling of regret that was starting to bubble up.

"They offered me a deal, since I'm gonna turn 18 in a week." Kain looked haggard and sickly pale underneath the fluorescent lights of the drunk tank holding cell. He was missing his ragged hoodie – the police had confiscated it, apparently – and the resignation on his face was readily apparent as he leaned against the bars of the cell.

"What deal? I've got an ankle monitor, so it shouldn't be too bad—"

"I've got as many misdemeanors as you do, G, but I don't got a daddy that'd post bail or buy lawyers. Somehow… I think I always knew I'd find my way in here, just like my own folks." Kain scrubbed his knuckles against the side of his head, his eyes staring off past Gallagher's shoulder.

"You… what?"

"I don't think I've ever told you about my own folks, right?" Kain's half-hearted grin was a faded mockery of his usual smile. "My pa's in prison for killin' my ma when I was younger; he just snapped one day, callin' her a fomorian spy, and that was it. S'why I'm in foster care half a continent away from where I was born."

Gallagher closed his mouth with an audible click.

"Anyways, the lawyer offered up a deal: join the RA to straighten up and they'd drop the case against me _and_ you when I leave for bootcamp."

"But— you don't…" Gallagher mirrored Kain's nervousness, scrubbing at his hair yet again. "Why would you—"

"Take a look at me, seriously, G. What the hell d'ya think I'm gonna do in my life? You've got the money and your daddy's fancy university is offerin' you a full ride with help for your dyslexia. I'm not gonna work minimum wage for my whole life. I gotta get outta this rut, and the RA seems alright."

Gallagher's eyes were wide in panic. "You don't get to just choose that! I can't—"

"Y'know, I've always wanted to travel. See the world. Fuck a buncha hot babes. Be a hero."

"Fuck you! You wanna leave, you just GO! You fucking dumbass!" Fuming, Gallagher slammed his palm against the bars and turned around, heading for the door.

Gallagher never saw the shift from his shit-eating grin to one rueful resignation and the soft muttering that followed: "S'for yer own good, G."

A few hours later, the door to the drunk tank holding cell buzzed open to admit a surly police officer. "Kid, your time's up and your social worker's here."

Ingkells was waiting with his hands clasped behind his ramrod-straight back in one of the interview rooms. Next to him was Gallagher's father and a slick-faced lawyer holding onto a thin packet of official-looking papers.

"You've done as I've requested." Gallagher's father brokered no tolerance for argument or reconsideration.

"Yessir." Kain forced himself to keep his breathing calm and even. He could feel Ingkells' gaze boring into his forehead.

"Good. We will move onto other matters, now. Ingkells, your social worker, is here on the behalf of Father Torrin, the injured party, and will be your temporary legal representative and guardian until you are officially registered into the Royal Army."

"Yessir." Kain swallowed down the bile that was threatening to rise up. Nothing he did from now on could possibly make up for what he'd done to Father Torrin thanks to his incredibly stupid decision making skills, but it was a start.

* * *

 **Five months later** , Gallagher received an incredibly crinkled and stained envelope weighed down with three different stamps. He waited until he was alone in his dorm before opening it.

Inside the envelope was a piece of loose leaf binder paper folded over several times and covered in random pen doodles of fomors being stabbed by a pair of familiar stick figures wielding swords.

 _Hey G,_

 _Do you think you can send me some toilet paper?_

 _;p_

Gallagher grumbled under his breath while walking to his dorm's adjoined bathroom, but even he couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at his mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

Gallagher got the call on the morning of his twenty-sixth birthday, which was also the last day of the week that he'd taken off from his dispatch job at the Crimson Blade Defense Contractors. He blasted through several red lights and narrowly avoided being pulled over twice by the time he reached the Rocheste General Hospital.

The receptionist didn't so much as bat an eyelash when he breezed into the ER. "Sir, please take a seat—"

"There was a bus of discharged RA soldiers that overturned on the highway, right? My friend was on one of those buses, I needta know if he's okay, _please_." Gallagher didn't beg, but it was damn close to it.

"His name?" The receptionist straightened up at the mention of the victims from the accident that had happened roughly an hour ago.

"Kain. He's a Captain."

"And what is your relationship to Mr. Belclaire?"

Gallagher made a face at the way the receptionist emphasized Kain's last name. "I'm his best friend."

The receptionist hummed for a moment at the computer screen. "I'm sorry sir, but I can only admit immediate family members right now as he is just out of surgery."

"But—"

"It's hospital policy. I'm sorry sir."

Turning his back to the placid smile the receptionist shot at him, Gallagher ran a hand through his hair and muttered underneath his breath as he stalked out of the ER. He made his way to the smokers' area and lit up a cigarette to calm his agitated nerves.

Four cigarettes later, Ingkells found him pacing a trench in the smokers' area.

"Gallagher, they haven't let you in to see him?"

"Not 'family.' What a load of fucking shit." With a sneer, the man crushed his cigarette stub on the concrete.

"Come with me, then – he's awake, and Silberin wanted to talk to him privately for a few minutes."

Gallagher hauled his ass over so fast that Ingkells actually had to tug the man back from almost running over a few people in wheelchairs several times.

Silberin had just redrawn the curtains when Gallagher and Ingkells made their appearance. "Ah… Gallagher. It is good to see you, after so long."

"Yeah you too— he's awake?"

"Of fucking course I'm awake. Silberin why'd you pull the curtains back, I can't see the T.V. no more." The voice was rougher and more gravely than Gallagher remembered, but it was definitely familiar in a way that finally settled his jittery nerves.

Gallagher pulled back the curtain and balked at the two jagged and swollen scars crossing Kain's face.

The man grinned lopsidedly despite the fact that it no doubt pulled painfully at the fresh stitches on his face. "Heya, G. Good t'know that yeh finally got rid of that godawful haircut."

"Coming from a guy with a buzzcut that makes him look like a fuckin' smurf."

"Oi, fuck you, it's regulation."

With a grin that looked just about to break his face, Gallagher took the only chair available by the bed. "So, you're finally done with the RA?"

"Ye _p_." Kain casually popped the last syllable. "Got my Purple Heart and an honorable discharge. I never wanna be anywhere near ruins or forests for the rest of my life, if possible."

"What d'ya wanna do once you get outta this dump?"

Kain's smile faded. "I dunno. I got veteran benefits now, so I could probably try my hand at college or somethin'. A job would be nice, I guess. Since I'm technically homeless _and_ unemployed, now."

Gallagher stared at the other man. Eight years in the army and he didn't know what to do after it? Gallagher had to remedy that, immediately.

"You know what?"

Kain raised a now-scarred eyebrow. "Am I gonna regret sayin' 'what'?"

"You've got two badass shrapnel scars on your ugly mug, an honorable discharge, and no place to live. I've got a pretty face, a job at the CBDC with good pay, and a two-bedroom apartment."

"…You're gonna let me crash at your place? Like back when we were kids?"

"I'm gonna let you crash at my place _and_ get you a job at the CBDC. My boss' always goin' on about giving me a partner 'cause I keep forgettin' to do my paperwork on time, but none of the interns wanna take it since they're a buncha pussies."

"Seriously? Just like that?" Kain stared at Gallagher. Who was this man and what happened to the asshole that he'd grown up with? Or… perhaps he had _grown up_ himself, too.

"You gotta do all the cooking and cleanin' though. I can't figure out how to use the damn washing machine and we can't eat ramen 24/7."

"Now there's the catch I was waitin' for. You're lucky I didn't destroy my taste buds with MREs."

"What'd you expect? You're gonna work for your stay." Gallagher leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest with a lackadaisical smirk.

Kain snorted and shifted on his pillows. "Here I thought you just wanted t'see me in a maid's outfit or somethin'."

"Oh Goddess, _hell_ no." Gallagher's grin twisted into over-exaggerated disgust.

"Hah, I wouldn't fit into one of those teeny uniforms anyways."

Gallagher didn't notice, but Kain's easy smile and the crinkling at the corner of his eyes were straining to look unaffected rather than brittle and just about ready to crumble underneath from unseen shadows.


	7. Chapter 7

_The unedited version of this chapter can be found on my AO3._

* * *

It was nearing 1 A.M. on a Friday-turned-Saturday morning and Kain found himself shoved face-first into the graffitied mirror in _The Ship Graveyard_ 's men's restroom. To keep himself from smashing his face against the mirror again, he kept his arms pressed against the filthy mirror and pressed his face into the crook on his elbow as foreign hands impatiently tugged his belt loose and dragged his jeans and boxers-briefs down to his knees. The grimy metal basin of the sink dug painfully into his hips when he was forced up to the tips of his toes in order to accommodate the overly-excited young man ripping open a condom wrapper behind him.

The brain-numbing bass reverberating through the thin walls thumped in time to the alcohol-induced pounding in his head. Kain hissed through gritted teeth when the thick fingers digging into his scalp pushed him harder against the mirror.

The dry, chafing pain shooting up his spine grounded him, while grudging curls of pleasure coiling in his gut sent his nerves aflame in a way that made him feel alive after so long of nothing at all. Zeroing in on the animalistic grunts barely audible through the overload of noise and the minute vibrations pleasantly rattling his bones, he did his best to ignore the aching, gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach telling him that _This Is Not A Good Idea_.

In the grand scheme of things, his dirty little _secret_ was definitely _not_ one of the best and/or safest ideas he'd ever came up… if any his buddies from his stint in the Royal Army or his coworkers could see him now, bent over a dirty sink in a dirty club by a dirty scumbag without so much as batting an eye at the way he was allowing himself to be used…

"Yeah, you like that? C'mon, that's it…"

Kain bit his tongue to keep from replying with anything other than a tense grunt.

"Relax, babe, I've got you covered…"

A hand slid down his thigh and Kain grabbed it in a crushing grip – the first warning. The rejected hand fell back to his hip.

" _Sheesh_ , alright—"

The pain from the awkward angle mingled with the sparse amount of pleasure that he allowed himself to feel. Letting his body follow his instincts, his mind drifted towards the sorry state of his life; the pay at the CBDC was decent, sure, but… there was just something hollow in him. Maybe it'd been been the army that had turned off something vital in him, maybe he'd just been born wrong since the beginning…

So here he was, getting fucked up by some nameless guy in a seedy bar just to keep from spontaneously combusting from pent-up frustration.

The man behind him tensed for a long moment with a blissful moan, blunt nails scratching a matching pair of skin-deep bruises onto his hips. Kain shifted his weight at the feeling of emptiness once the man withdrew with a satisfied sigh.

He slapped away the hand that tried to circle around to help him with his _problem_.

"Fine, whatever—" The man behind him dealt with the condom and zipped his own pants up. "Thanks for the fuck."

Kain straightened up, wincing slightly at the pull in his back, before reaching down to roughly pull up his own jeans. When it was clear that he wasn't going to reply, the man snorted and left the restroom with a bowlegged swagger.

Now alone, Kain pulled out his cell and checked his messages. Four, and all from one person responsible for 95% of the problems in his life.

 _Whr r u. Work's ovr._

8:32 P.M.

 _Fk u, I'm tking the subwy_

9:03P.M.

 _Hot girl alert .yum ;o_

10:53 P.M.

 _Dun come bac I got her_

11:27 P.M.

Kain slid his phone back into his pocket and mused to himself as he left the restroom, _happy 27_ _th_ _birthday, you miserable sack of shit_.


	8. Chapter 8

_The unedited version of this chapter can be found on my AO3._

* * *

One rough hand hooked into the slight slack between Kain's bound wrists – elegantly tied with a length of braided polypropylene – and shoved his arms down, pushing his shoulders and back even harder into the unyielding body behind him. He could barely breathe with his face firmly pressed into a no-longer-crisp pillow, and his lungs were deliciously on fire as he climbed closer and closer to the precipice of physical completion.

" _D—don't yeh fuckin' come yet, fuck, Gil, yeah—_ "

" _Fuck, fuck, can't, I'm, guh—_ "

The bruising grip on his right hip slackened and then went up to clutch painfully at his hair, pulling his head back just enough so that a lust-addled mouth could bite and suck at the swath of unmarked, beard-burned skin at his neck.

" _Ff-fucker, I tol'yeh not t—_ "

" _Fuck, Kain, I'm gonna—oh, FUCK!_ "

A final, ruthless thrust sent his head sliding off the pillow to crack onto the headboard just as the feeling of warmth came forth. The entire weight of a 6-foot-tall, 170-lb lawyer decided to half-collapsed on top of him and his bound wrists.

The cockily-satisfied man didn't stop, however. A hand reached over to help him a little, and the calloused palm sliding furiously over his aching body dragged out a pitiful moan from his mouth.

"Look'it you, still pantin' and hot." Kain didn't need to crack open his eyelids to _feel_ the egotistical smirk on Gil's face.

The other man tugged at bindings at his wrists, dragging him up into a kneeling position and exposing himself to hungry eyes. The hand working at him slid down lower to tease, while the other splayed against the trembling muscles in his stomach.

"Y'want round three? Go and work fo' _it_." The last word was little louder than a purr in Kain's ear.

With a whimper, Kain started moving.

* * *

Much later, Kain sat up in the bed with a wince, rubbing ineffectually at the light bruising at his wrists and arms now that they were free of their bonds.

"I think I up and pull'd one o' m'thigh muscles."

Next to him and lounging with a self-satisfied smile on his lips, Gil set aside the cigarette he was smoking in the ashtray on the nightstand. His ink-stained fingers trailed down his bedmate's neck, pressing hard onto the spots where teeth-shaped bruises would turn a lurid purple by tomorrow morning.

Kain grunted and slapped away the hand poking at his hickies.

"Our 'greement is _no_ biting 'bove the neck, y'asshat."

"Our contract 'xpired yesterday. I asked y'in tonight to draft uppa new one, but y'were lookin' so desperate fo' a good, hard fuck that I'd give ya a _pro bono_."

The man's blond eyebrows arched suggestively as his hand stopped prodding at his hickies and instead went up to thread through his tangled hair, tugging almost painfully before the man let it go. Resigned, Kain flipped off Gil before settling down on his side in the bed and drawing the duvet over himself.

"Ugh, I'm in the wet spot. Shove ov'r."

Gil scooted over an inch, flipped on the television to a late night news channel, and returned to smoking his cigarette.

"Fuck'r."

"I thought you'd be good after five. I'll be ready fo' another in 'bout a half-hour."

Kain wrenched out one of the extra pillows that Gil was propped up on and slammed it over his face to block out the light and noise of the television with a muffled grumble.

* * *

"Oh _hell_ no. Fuckin' sonnuva bitch."

The collar of his CBDC uniform didn't cover the bite marks on his neck.

It didn't even come anywhere _close_.

"That's what I get fo' lettin' a fuckin' vulture-fuckface shark of a lawyer fuckin' fuck me, y'fuckin' FUCK!"

The shout was directed at the other side of the closed bathroom door.

"I should bring you a thesaurus next time to see if you can make up some better insults!"

"Fuck! You!"

Kain stormed out of the bathroom, but Gil had grabbed onto the front of his uniform the moment he exited and slammed him back against the wall. A knee pressed warningly against his crotch.

"What a naughty mouth…" Gil's blond hair was slicked back into his pompous rich-man's style and his expensive suit was entirely wrinkle-free. "Keep going on like that and I might just gag you."

"Y'can try." Kain's glare was anything but pleasant.

Gil leaned in close to his pinned captive and pressed a domineering kiss onto the half-heartedly resisting man.

"The updated contract and my gift's on the nightstand. Since you begged so prettily last night, I gave you a little extra to make up for the bites."

"Fuckin' thanks fo' that."

Gil only let him go after a few more hard nips to Kain's thoroughly swollen lips.

"Y'know, if you'd just ask, we could quit this ridiculous contract and just start dating. You'd never need to work another day in your life driving for that shitty hero company with my salary. A haircut, some better clothes, and give and take a few steady months of filling food and we'd look _perfect_ together."

"No." Kain pushed the other man back a step. "Fuck off, Gil. M'not a kept man."

Gil squinted a bit and then shook his head as he straightened his tie.

"Y'know he's never going to give you what I can, right? Why're you still holdin' out for a bit of hope that's never going to come when you can have somethin' much better right now?"

"You ain't better fo' me, and yeh know it." Kain adjusted his trousers with a scowl.

Gil sighed and patted Kain's cheek patronizingly. "See you next week, my lil' sugar baby."

Kain flipped him the bird.

"Oh, right." Gil's hand stopped just above the door handle. "I almost forgot, but I believe your boss called me Tuesday night to threaten me with turning the entire legal department against me for gross misconduct and alleged harassment if you didn't show up on time today. It's like the man doesn't believe that I only have the _best_ of intentions towards you. What on earth is the rumor mill saying about us, I wonder?"

Kain flipped him two birds and then disappeared back into the bathroom to deal with the hickies.

After finishing his shift at the CBDC and returning to the apartment he still shared with Gallagher, Kain read through the updated contract and gnawed at his thumbnail as his pen hovered over the signature line. In the end, he shoved the unsigned papers underneath his mattress and gave the numbers in his bank account a good, hard look for a long moment from the screen of his phone before checking his text messages.

One from Gallagher.

 _I want ramen 4 dinner_

 _Do we hav $ for pie?_

6:14 P.M.

Kain sighed and hauled himself up from his bed to start making dinner, even though the only thing he wanted to do right now was to get twelve hours of sleep that wasn't interrupted by nightmares, insomnia, or binge drinking for once.


	9. Chapter 9

Whereas he was actively avoiding Gallagher for the time being, Gil was… hovering. Incessantly.

( _During instances like this, Kain really regretted 'dating' a coworker._ )

The lawyer seemed to take great pleasure in making Kain vaguely uncomfortable via groping in stairwells and random quickies in broom closets whenever they crossed paths in the Headquarters, which only started to become more frequent as days passed without him giving an actual response to the updated contract that was currently burning a hole through his mattress.

After yet another _incident_ during his precious lunch break, Kain finally decided to take matters into his own hands while zipping up his trousers.

"I'm not gonna bother signin' the contract. We're done, Gil. Stop botherin' me fo' fucks sake."

"C'm _on_ , babe. Y'need more money? Fancy dinner dates? A bigger bed?" Gil did a very good impression of a spoiled child whining for the return of his favorite toy.

"No. Just leave me 'lone." Kain shoved the man back a few good inches, ran a hand through his hair to ineffectually fix the mess, and then stormed out of the bathroom stall to wash his hands at the sink.

Without looking up from his hands, Kain stiffened when Gallagher came in through the door, looking badly hungover and ticked off.

"Fuckface." Gallagher sneered at Bran. "Get roll over and die in a ditch somewhere."

"Shitstain." Bran sneered right back him. "I hope you roll over in your sleep and suffocate."

Kain scrubbed his soapy hands harder. Just one _good_ day, honestly, that was all he was asking for…

"Go choke on a dick, you two-bit lawyer." Gallagher was practically up on his toes now, nearly nose-to-nose to the other man and bristling like a wild animal.

"Oh, someone's choking on _my_ dick and lovin' it, alright." Bran smirked and reached over to pull down the back of Kain's shirt, exposing purpling bite marks and fresh scratches.

"What the–" Stumbling back, Kain froze when he saw Gallagher staring blankly at him from the reflection of the mirror. "Bran, that's against the fu–"

"There ain't a contract anymore. I can do whatever the hell I want." Bran waved a dismissive hand and strolled past a shell-shocked Gallagher and right out of the restroom without another word.

"It's not… well..." Kain stammered and then just gave up, hanging his head.

"You're sleepin' with the enemy?" Gallagher's usual snark was missing, his voice relatively quiet and hurt beyond belief.

"I'm not gonna do this wit' you, not right now and not in a fuckin' restroom at the workplace." Kain scrubbed his hand through his hair and tried to edge past Gallagher.

Kain's back hit the door to the restroom with a thud.

"YOU WERE **SLEEPIN'** WITH GIL?! Why the **HELL** didn't I KNOW?!" Gallagher's fist slammed onto the door, missing the side of Kain's face by a quarter of an inch.

"If you bothered to look at me once in a while, you would've. What we had was strictly business." The expression of Kain's face closed off into cold neutrality.

"But HIM? Of all the fuckin' people in this city, why did you pick HIM?!" Gallagher was right up into his face, snarling in rage.

"Because the one _**I**_ want is a drunken piece of shit that's _so_ fuckin' blind it's a miracle he can get his head out of his ass once a month!" And that was _just_ the tip of the iceberg of his problems, too.

"Who is it?! I'm gonna fuckin' beat the snot outta–"

"IT'S YOU, YOU FUCKIN' MORON! I've been in love with **YOU** for ALMOST A FUCKIN' **DECADE**! For fuck's _sake_!"

Gallagher's face flushed and he took a step back. His mouth opened, but for once nothing came out.

Kain took the opportunity to wrestle open the door and flee from the absolute wreck that had taken over his life.

* * *

"Gimmie another."

Caryl warily eyed the poor man at the counter. It was nearing 2 in the morning and all of her patrons had long since left, except for the miserable sack of gloom slumped on the barstool in the corner of the bar.

"Bar's closing. Pay your tab and get the hell outta here." Caryl set down one last pale ale in front of the man before starting to clear away the dried glasses behind the counter.

"That how you treat all your vets 'round here?"

"No, just the ones that keep coming around looking like they've got one foot through death's door."

Kain chugged down the beer, slapped down a few bills, shoved the crumpled up receipt into his wallet, and then staggered to his feet. He almost fell over getting the door open, but he made it through without further embarrassment. The cold air helped with his inebriation, somewhat. He dragged out a cigarette and lit up, leaning tiredly against a flickering lamp post.

"Oi! I've been lookin' all over the Goddess-damned place for your sorry ass!"

Kain closed his eyes and sighed the best he could with a lit cigarette between his teeth. "What _now_ , G?"

"You're done with your three-day bender? Good. Get in the fuckin' car."

Kain, despite his initial reluctance, flicked away his cigarette and slid into the passenger seat. Turning his body away from the driver, he leaned his head against the window, the cold glass blissful against the pounding in his head, and closed his eyes.

He was asleep in seconds.


	10. Chapter 10

_The unedited version of this chapter can be found on my AO3._

* * *

Kain woke up when he rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a heavy thud. His face ended up buried in… his shirt? Wincing at the pulsing pain in his head, the man sat up and pressed the palms of his hands onto his eyes.

Why the fuck was he naked?

"Oi, y'alright?"

Kain opened his eyes tentatively, the scant light coming from between the heavy drawn curtains stabbing into his brain. Thankfully, however, it seemed that he wasn't nauseous.

"Oh, fo' Goddess sake..." Hands dragged him back up onto the bed. Kain groaned when someone ripped away the pillow that he'd shoved over his face. A glass of water and two painkiller pills appeared and Kain wasted no time in downing both before flopping back down into the blankets. "Fine, be like that. You're lucky that I called in a few vacation days fo' both of us."

"G..."

"What?"

"Why'm I naked?"

"Why d'ya think?" Gallagher snorted as he picked up the clothes strewn around the room.

"Did I–" A cold chill shot down Kain's spine and he sat right the fuck up.

"No, you didn't. Even drunk as a skunk y'were just a bit handsy, is all. Nothin' I can't handle."

"So… you didn't mind…?" Kain sat back down and squinted out of one eye from within the cocoon of blankets he'd created.

"Didja forget that I went to uni? I'm not _that_ fuckin' blind to your gayness, K. And, I can handle a confession like a fuckin' _man_."

"…really?" Kain wondered if he was still actually drunk and this was some kind of drunken hallucination.

"Yeah, I was just..." Gallagher paused, searching for the closest word he could use to describe the mess that was their fucked-up relationship. "Jealous, I guess. You've been with me since the beginnin', and I didn't want anybod' else anywhere near my spot but ended up takin' you for granted. There's been so many times that I thought that one day you'd just realize that you were hangin' with a loser and just leave the way you did with the army. Gil's a fucktard though, don't know why you'd go for him after everythin'..."

"He paid. A lot. Why d'ya think we can afford this much good beer?"

"Just business?"

"Yeap."

"..."

"… Think y'can pass me some clothes?"

"Uh, yeah. Right." Gallagher didn't leave the room while Kain dressed, however. He seemed uncharacteristically pensive. "I did some thinkin' while lookin' fo' you."

"Didn't hurt, did it?" Kain tugged on his pants and discarded his shirt in favor of a clean one in the just-done laundry pile when noticed the strong scent of alcohol that lingered. He needed a shower, badly.

"Shut up. As I was sayin'… I took a good long look at everythin' we've been through, all the way back to when we were kids and all, too..." Gallagher took a step to the side to let Kain pass by to the bathroom in the hallway, and then actually followed him in.

"Yer gonna watch me shower now?"

"You did a lot for me. M'sorry I didn't say anthin' 'till now." The genuine way Gallagher gritted out those almost-foreign words warmed Kain's heart a bit.

"It's… it's alright, G. Just." Kain paused while adjusting the shower knob, his other hand clenching at his side. "We friends, or what?"

"I... wouldn't mind bein' more. You've been in love me for that long, huh?"

"This isn't somethin' you can say and then take back later, Gallagher. I'm not a fuckin' pen." Kain felt a stab of regret at being harsh, but after the whirlwind of a _year_ he'd been having, he felt justified.

"Yeah. I know. I wanna try, if that's alright for you." Gallagher's eyes flickered to their reflection the mirror before coming back to rest on Kain's bruised neck.

"Okay." Kain sighed. What the hell, his life was a mess already, it couldn't possibly get any worse with Gallagher still sticking around, right? "Help me scrub m'back? Arm's sore as hell."

Gallagher practically tore his shirt off in his haste to get undressed.

* * *

"Ugh– h-hey! I d-don't need t'look like eve' more of a chew to– agh, Goddess–"

"Hmmmm..."

Teeth nipped at the skin of his collarbone, insistent on marking over the already existing hickey there. Wet hands hands stroked at his sides, lingering over the scars he'd gotten from his stint in the army.

They rutted together as if they were inexperienced teenagers instead of fully grown men, exchanging breathless gasps and slick kisses as the thick steam from the water built up in the overheated bathroom.

 _Brrrrring!_

"Fo' fucks sake, _please_ –" Kain groaned, and _not_ in pleasure. He tried to shove Gallagher back a bit but the man only pressed closer, pinning him to the wall of the shower with his legs and mouth and _oh yeah don't stop–_

 _Brrrrring!_

"G, that's prob'ly work, gotta answ'r–"

"Not _goin'_ anywhere 'til–"

"Ah, _**FUCK!**_ "

"Fuck fuck fuck– _**ugh**_ _!_ "

 _Brrrrrring!_

Kain let his the back of his head thump against the tiled wall behind him, bleary-eyed and breathing heavily as he let go of the softening dick in his grasp in favor of stroking the thighs bracketing his own. Gallagher's face was tucked into the crook of his neck, heaving as he continued tugging until Kain was just about to punch him in the nuts to get him to _stop_.

Their mess swirled down the drain, and Kain felt like his soul had just about left his body. He didn't want to move so much as an inch, except to perhaps sit down.

 _Brrrrrring!_

Kain fumbled around for the shower knob and shut off the water, ignoring the squawk that came out of Gallagher as he shrugged himself out of the other man's hold and snatched up a towel. He hurriedly dried his hands and rooted through the pocket of his pants for his phone.

"WHAT?!"

"Hello, Kain! Clodagh and I have a favor to call in!" The cheery chirping coming from Tieve abated his anger, but only a little bit.

"What. Do you. Need." Kain bit out from gritted teeth as Gallagher plastered himself to his back and his hands started roaming yet again.

"Well, since Shayla's birthday cake was ruined thanks to Gallagher, we were wondering if you would be so kind as to take us to the mall on Thursday? There's a sale going on in a few of the stores and Clodagh just received a bonus on her paycheck!"

"Fine, yes. Later." Kain barely held back an inappropriate moan, his hands white-knuckling the edge of the bathroom counter as fingers started to pay _a lot_ attention to his chest. This was _not_ the first time either women called him while in the middle of something – it was as if those two a sixth sense of butting in his business at the worst of times!

"Why are y– oh! Is there someone with you?"

Kain's phone was snatched away from him.

"He's busy right _now_." Gallagher punctuated the end of his sentence with a grope, getting a choked moan in response, before hanging up the call with a devilish grin.

"Y'fucker, why'd–"

"We've got _years_ of sex to catch up on, less talking more fuc– _mrph!_ "


	11. Chapter 11

It was a few days later the Gallagher got a call from his old cook, Simone, during his smoke break.

"Gallagher speakin'." Gallagher let the smoke from his weed joint float up past his head, inhaling a lungful before passing the cigarette over to Kain, who was leaning against the wall next to him chewing on a power bar.

"Oh, Gallagher..." The man straightened up at the weepy tone coming out of the tinny speakers on his phone. It wasn't like Simone to call him out of the blue, crying… "Your parents, they're… they're both gone. Your father was driving, drunk out of his mind, and your mother… I'm sorry, for your loss."

More sobbing. Gallagher wondered if something was incredibly wrong with him, since he felt nothing more than detached apathy at the news. He hung up, not wanting to listen to Simone crying any more than he had to, and snatched the joint back from Kain, breathing in the smoke deeply.

"What 'appened?"

Gallagher blew out the smoke and watched the wisps of gray fade into the clear blue skies above. "My dad and mum were driving drunk. They're dead. I'm probably gonna get a call from the family lawyer in the next ten minutes about their will. Might even hafta identify their bodies."

"You want me to…?" Kain scuffed his boots against the concrete and shoved the empty wrapper of his power bar into his back pocket.

"Yeah." Gallagher's voice went rougher than normal. His parents hadn't really cared about him or the people _he_ cared about, so why was he–

"I've got yer back, G." Kain dragged the other man into a hug, tucking his face into the crook of his neck.

Gallagher let the joint drop from nerveless fingers and curled into the willingly offered warmth.

* * *

After seven grueling hours of dealing with the family lawyer and various other parties (mostly his father's business partners and powerful political connections) wishing him condolences for his losses, Gallagher finally stumbled into his apartment with a briefcase full of papers to look over and sign.

Kain was watching some tv show while sitting on his ( _their?_ ) bed, dressed in little more than boxers-briefs and Gallagher's ratty university football t-shirt. Gallagher let the briefcase drop to the floor and immediately flopped face-first onto the bed next to the other man.

"Their funeral's gonna be in four days. I've inherited roughly two hundred million dollars in bank accounts, global stocks, and vacation rental properties in Malina." A hand started to scratch soothingly at Gallagher's scalp.

"How d'you feel?"

Gallagher rolled over onto his side so he could sling an arm around Kain's hips.

"What the fuck am I gonna do with all of this? I like my life 'ere. I like m'job. You. I don' want to take over my dad's work. I never wanted to _be_ him."

Kain hummed and continued scratching. "Well, I've got an idea, it's kinda stupid, but..."

* * *

"You were right, this is a _stupid_ idea, but I don't regret wasting this much of my dad's money _at all_." Gallagher grunted as he hefted another heavy box of frozen prepackaged peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into the rental truck.

"Your dad's 'pparently never done a whit of charity in his life, so this was the next best thing I could think of." Kain stacked the boxes of sandwiches properly so that they could fit all twenty or so boxes in the space available. "Alright, that's the last one?"

"Yep." Gallagher stuffed the last box inside and pulled down the truck bed cover with some help. "Which place's first?"

"Father Torrin's Home for Displaced Children. First outta ten." Kain got behind the wheel and gunned the engine, waiting for Gallagher to put his seat belt on before putting his foot on the accelerator.

"Good as any place to start." Gallagher eyed Kain from the side of his eye, a soft smile tugging at his mouth.

"Yeah, it is."


	12. Chapter 12

Kain wasn't answering his phone.

Kain wasn't at the garage, their secret spot on the roof of the Headquarters, or at home.

"Hey, Ceara!" Gallagher had to jog a bit to catch up to the red-haired woman hurrying out of Captain Aodhan's office. "Y'know where Kain is? He's not picking up my calls and I can't find 'im anywhere."

"S-sorry Gallagher, I'm really busy! There's been an incident in downtown and I gotta go!" Ceara, uncharacteristically wide-eyed, edged around the man and practically ran off.

"Huh." Gallagher stared at Ceara's back for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Something was up, and he didn't like it.

Marrec was a bust as well, the guy practically sprinting away whenever he got within ten feet of him.

It was only that when Gallagher gave up and headed into the dispatch center that he heard some news from a few of the gossiping interns that hadn't noticed his presence just yet.

"Oh, that's terrible! Isn't Vehemence that one fomor–"

"Yeah, that lightning one, I can't believe he attacked while they were going to the mall! The mall! Is nothing safe now?"

"Poor Tieve, the last I heard she was in the hospital."

"Poor Tieve? Poor Clodagh, she was abducted by those fomors! Who knows what unholy things they're doing to her right now?"

 _Brrrrring!_ Gallagher's phone went off and the interns' heads snapped to where he was standing, flushing visibly as they immediately scampered away with their heads down.

"Kain, wher–"

"Gallagher, report to my office immediately." The urgent tone in Captain Aodhan's voice brokered zero argument as he immediately cut the call. Gallagher's eyebrows furrowed as he headed for the elevator.

What the hell was going on?

* * *

Thank the fucking Goddess that Gallagher was already sitting down, or he would've just fallen over in his shock. His ears were ringing and no doubt his eyes were was wide as saucers.

 _He couldn't..._

"Effective immediately, I'm putting you on compassionate leave for the next two weeks. I'll have someone take you home and keep watch." Captain Aodhan's hand on his shoulder squeezed, bringing him back to reality.

"No!"

"This is not up for debate."

"YOU CAN'T JUST FUCKIN' TELL ME HE'S DEAD AND EXPECT ME TO GO HOME!"

"I'm sorry, Gallagher. I really am. This is for your safety."

The door of Aodhan's office opened to admit a medical tech and two R&D security guards armed to the teeth.

It didn't take more than ten seconds for the guards to restrain him and the medical tech to administer the sedative that drained away all of his rage and replaced it with mind-numbing sleep.

* * *

Gallagher woke up on his couch in his apartment with one of the security guards side-eying him. He immediately stumbled into the bathroom adjoined to his bedroom, locked the door, and promptly threw up his lunch.

He rested his forehead against the porcelain seat for a long minute before getting to his feet and going over to the sink to rinse out his mouth.

Then, Gallagher slid open the bedroom window and climbed out onto the fire escape. Using the ladders, he dropped down to the back alley and vaulted over the chain link fence.

It took a good part of an hour to find the crime scene, but since it was still relatively fresh the backed-up traffic was practically a crumb trail that he could follow. Gallagher slipped underneath the caution tape and his eyes were glued onto the crushed wreck of Kain's car, the broken glass scattered about, and the puddle of blood staining the asphalt.

Gallagher's hands clenched into fists at his sides. _Vehemence_ … he'd show that fuckin' fomor what is was like to mess with him.

"Sir, this is a restricted area. You're supposed to be behind the tape." The sole Royal Police officer on the scene – a probationary agent, judging from his lack of patches – finally noticed his presence.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that."

The probationary police officer gave him a curious look. "Say, is your name Gallagher? Are you one of those Crimson Blades?"

"Yeah, what'sit to you?" Gallagher sneered back.

"Well, I've got orders to bring you in on charges of obstructing the justice. Charging in on the crime scene and all that."

"Fuck you, asshat!"

"C'mon man, I've got orders. It's not personal."

Before he could think, Gallagher's fist was already up and swinging at the police officer's face.

* * *

News of Gallagher's scuffle with the Royal Police reached Captain Aodhan's ears soon enough, and Gallagher found himself back in the older man's office after sitting in a jail cell for three weeks.

"I had to call in a favor to get you out. I explicitly told you to go home and _stay_ there, Gallagher." Captain Aodhan was not pleased with how one of his own agents had gone off and assaulted a police officer, although he did sympathize with the grieving man and gave him just a bit of slack.

"I can't." Unshaven, baggy-eyed, and generally looking like a complete mess, Gallagher didn't even bother to look up from his hands.

"I understand you are in shock and grieving, Gallagher. We're here to help you." Captain Aodhan took off his reading glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"I quit." Gallagher looked up, the warfare going on behind the blank mask on his face obvious.

"Excuse me?" Captain Aodhan readied the panic button underneath his desk. If Gallagher was going to need to be placed on suicide watch with the way he was dealing with everything, he was going to press that button without an ounce of hesitation.

"I quit. I can't stay here. I'm gonna go back home and take over my late father's business. It's technically mine now, but I'd just handed over position to a provisional manager since I didn't want much to do with it. Now, though..."

"Gallagher–"

"Nope. I'm done. I'm quittin', and if you can't take that then just fire me instead, I don't care." With that, Gallagher got up from his seat and strode out of the office, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire.

* * *

Two weeks later after the trials of Fomorian Leader Shining Shakarr and his two Commanders, Black Scar and Everwhite, the thoroughly mangled corpse of Vehemence was found by the Rocheste Docks. The fomor had been disemboweled in a way that would've made dying extremely slow, had been tied up with some restraints stolen from the CBDC's Research and Development labs, and then weighed down in an industrial-sized fishing net set out to sea.

The fomor had slowly bled out while drowning, restrained and unable to do a single thing as the marine life happily gnawed away at its body.

None of the CBDC tails that Captain Aodhan had placed on Gallagher could scent hair or hide of the man, until one fine Thursday afternoon at exactly 3:30 P.M.

"Captain Aodhan! You've got to see this!" Milo, the intern, burst into his office with all of the excitement of a growing puppy. The intern (still a teenager, actually, and barely older than his own daughters) dragged the older man into the communal break room.

It almost seemed like the entirety of the Crimson Blades were all gathered around the huge television screen, silent in incredulity and shock.

Captain Aodhan stared in disbelief at the television. Lucky for him, however, it was Ceara that had the courage to say what was going through all of their heads.

"My eyes aren't deceiving me, right? That's Gallagher, isn't it?"

Immediately, the crowd broke into whispers.

"He kinda does look like him, I guess–"

"Goddess, I can't even recognize him in that suit–"

"Gallagher doesn't wear _suits_ , how can-"

"He actually looks serious, holy shit–"

"Shut up! He's gonna talk!"

The crowd quieted down as Gallagher took the podium. Underneath him, the blaring blue and red breaking news bar read: **Fortune 50 mogul Gallagher von Leon to replace current Governor of Rocheste after massive scandal!**

"Citizens of Rocheste, no longer will you have to suffer under the leadership of a Fomorian conspirator. The Fomorians are our sworn enemies, and it is with the powers vested in me through the power of the Royal Court that I shall actively work to combat the deep webs of corruption that have taken hold of our home..."


End file.
